


Tartan Takedown

by witchy_teacup



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Established Relationship, F/M, Female-Presenting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gender or Sex Swap, M/M, Making an Effort (Good Omens), Other, Post-Canon, Semi-Public Sex, She/Her Pronouns for Aziraphale (Good Omens), Smut, Why Did I Write This?, how did this go smutty, it was only supposed to be cute and fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:55:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21799474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchy_teacup/pseuds/witchy_teacup
Summary: Aziraphale hasn't tinkered with his corporation in 6000+ years. Naturally, a tartan dress is what gets him to try out a female form. Crowley heartily approves.Or: The one in which Aziraphale tries out a gender change and Crowley nearly has a heart attack.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 321





	Tartan Takedown

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This fic is meant to represent the first time Aziraphale experiments with changing genders. Crowley's enthusiasm is a result of his excitement over the angel feeling comfortable enough in their (physical) relationship to experiment, and in no way, shape, or form is it intended to imply that he prefers Aziraphale with a vulva.   
> Both angel and demon love and enjoy physical congress with each other regardless of chosen Efforts.

Crowley’s long-legged gait faltered as Aziraphale, who had been walking arm in arm with him, paused suddenly next to a shop window. “Look, my dear,” his angel said with a brilliant smile, “tartan is in style!” He gestured to the mannequins in the display which were sporting tartan dresses and skirts in a variety of colors.

Crowley rolled his eyes behind their dark glasses and muttered something about Edwardian tailoring. Aziraphale smacked his arm lightly and allowed Crowley to resume their pace, his curiosity piqued. 

Later that week, while Crowley was at his flat terrorizing his plants, Aziraphale gave in to his curiosity and ducked into a shop a few streets over from the bookshop. He had tinkered with his corporation for the first time in 6000 years, and he was both excited and nervous to try something new. He hadn’t wanted to miracle his waistcoat to fit his new proportions, so for the first time in over 100 years he had left the shop without it. Instead he wore a cream colored cardigan over his usual pale blue button-up paired with his favorite bow tie. He had been stumped as to what to do with his trousers, so he had sighed and miracled them to fit well enough for this trip.

Aziraphale trailed his fingers over the racks of dresses, wondering at the vast variety of textures and colors. He was starting to worry that he wouldn’t be able to find something fitting before Crowley showed back up at the shop only to find him gone, but the shop girl found him and recognized the overwhelmed expression on his face. “Can I help you find something, ma’am?” she asked with a bright smile, choosing to ignore his curious attire.

“Oh yes, please,” Aziraphale said, with an equally bright smile. “I’m looking for a dress, but I’m afraid I haven’t been clothes shopping for myself in a long time.”

“Did you have anything in particular in mind?”

“Oh, I’m rather fond of tartan.”

The shop girl ran an appraising eye over Aziraphale’s corporation then said, “Follow me, I know just the dress.”

A little more than an hour later, Aziraphale was back in the bookshop, now wearing his new dress. The shop girl had outfitted him with everything he needed to complete the look and had also sold him on a dark blue tartan skirt and a cream colored, modern-cut blouse (with just a touch of ruffles to appease his old-fashioned aesthetic) to go with it. He had miracled up a full length mirror next to the till and was tweaking his new corporation a little bit as he admired his dress. It was a soft wool in a pastel blue and cream tartan with a full skirt that flared out if he spun and a sweetheart neckline that showcased more of his creamy skin than he had thought proper, but the shop girl had assured him that, “You’ve got the figure for it; you should show it off.”

He lengthened his hair to just brush his shoulder blades and with a thought he pulled back the front into a tail like he remembered Crowley used to do. He frowned at the way his curls refused to lay back, but with a few touch-ups here and there, he decided he liked the way they framed his face. He glanced at the magazine he had picked up on the way back and miracled on some subtle dewy makeup that he deemed close enough to modern beauty standards.

The bell over the door jingled, and Aziraphale spun on his new chunky-heeled pumps, reveling in the way the skirt swirled around his legs, saying, “I’m quite sorry, but we’re closed—ah, Crowley!”

Crowley had frozen, mid-step, mouth fallen open. His sunglasses slid down his nose and the only other movement in him was his eyes as they traveled from the long white-blonde curls, the dewy complexion, the smiling rosy glossed lips, the generous creamy cleavage, over the softly curved waist, the wide round hips, to the white stockinged calves, and smart brown pumps that would have reminded him of the Bastille if his brain could have formed any coherent thoughts.

Aziraphale tilted his head slightly as the shop’s door swung back trying to close, but instead hitting his demon and stopping. “My dear?” he asked gently. He took two steps forward and that was all it took apparently. 

Crowley’s long legs carried him across the shop in two strides. Then he stopped, mere inches from touching the angel. 

Aziraphale tried to read Crowley’s expression but found he couldn’t quite. He bit his lip shyly and twisted his hands together. Crowley’s yellow gaze snagged on what that familiar gesture did to Aziraphale’s new chest. 

The angel didn’t notice his demon’s nostrils flaring, or the hungry way his yellow gaze was devouring him because he was looking down at himself. He sighed, “You don’t like it? I just thought, you’re always changing your form, and I never really do, and there are so many more options for female clothing nowadays, and when I saw those dresses in the window the other day...” Aziraphale knew he was rambling just as he knew he was disappointed that Crowley didn’t seem to like the changes he’d made. “I’ll just change it back,” he added after pausing for a breath.

“You’ll do no such thing,” Crowley growled. 

Aziraphale’s head snapped up and now he noticed the particularly possessive and hungry expression on his beloved’s face. His eyes widened and he allowed himself that small smug smile that he knew drove his demon crazy. “So you do like it?” he asked as if the knowledge wasn’t painted all over their faces. 

Crowley skimmed his hands over Aziraphale’s shoulders and the angel leaned into his touch. Crowley hesitantly, almost reverently touched the angel’s new waist. He groaned as his fingers practically sunk into the softness of both the dress and the angel’s corporation. He trailed his hands down over the plush curve of Aziraphale’s hips and he lost it. He yanked Aziraphale to him and crushed his mouth down onto his. He devoured his angel like a man starved. 

Aziraphale snaked his arms around Crowley’s waist and let his head fall back under the demon’s ministrations. He moaned into Crowley’s mouth as one of the demon’s hands snaked its way between them to cup his breast.

The sound nearly undid Crowley. He backed Aziraphale to the counter, and his hands returned to Aziraphale’s waist to boost him up onto it next to the till. He groaned again as Aziraphale let his legs part as he yanked Crowley closer by his snake skin belt. He broke the kiss to watch as his amazingly feminine angel yanked at his belt again, this time undoing it before dragging his shirt up to slide his—her manicured fingers over Crowley’s abs.

Crowley bent down and, grabbing a fistful of soft curls dragged Aziraphale’s head back so he could fuse his mouth to the pale column of her throat. Aziraphale’s nails dug into Crowley’s back as she moaned. She moaned again as Crowley’s free hand slipped under her dress and found her wet heat.

“Oh Angel,” Crowley groaned against her throat as his fingers slipped under the thin layer of silk that covered her. His clever fingers circled her clit, drawing more sounds of pleasure from her, while his mouth went to work on the other side of her neck, licking and sucking another mark onto her creamy skin. 

Aziraphale shuddered and arched and moaned until she couldn’t take it anymore. She grabbed two fistfuls of Crowley’s hair and yanked his mouth up to hers, grinding her hips down on Crowley’s fingers. Obligingly, he slipped his fingers inside of her and started curling them in time with the angel’s movements.

It was Crowley’s turn to shudder as Aziraphale clenched around him as she came. She cried out his name and clung to him as pleasure washed over her. He grinned as her grip on his hair loosened. He knelt in front of her and miracled the silky underwear into a hamper in the flat upstairs as he shoved her dress up around her hips. He tossed his sunglasses over his shoulder as he brought his mouth to Aziraphale’s clit. The angel stilled, blue eyes wide as they met his yellow gaze. 

Crowley licked and sucked gently, adding his fingers when Aziraphale grabbed his hair again, her head falling back as she lost herself to the sensations he was giving her. He worshiped between her legs, luxuriating in her pleasure.

He only stopped when she pulled him back and gasped, “I need you, Crowley.”

He stood and let her unbutton and unzip his jeans, chuckling as she groaned at the sight of his erect length straining against his boxers. He hissed with pleasure as she pulled his boxers down to free his erection. “Now, inside, please, please,” she moaned, hips bucking on the edge of the counter.

Crowley could never deny his angel, and seeing her like this, begging for him, he did the only thing he could. He guided himself into her. Slowly, he seated himself fully inside of her. She moaned and hooked her legs around his hips. She clung to him as the sensation of him filling her for the first time in this version of her body nearly made her come again. He cupped the nape of her neck and murmured, “Look at me, Angel.”

Wild blue eyes fluttered open and met his gaze. “Please, dearest,” she managed to gasp, fisting her hands in his shirt. 

“Anything for you,” he groaned, pulling back and then filling her again, forcing himself to go slow, to be gentle, to allow his angel to adjust. 

He built the pace slowly, straining to keep himself in check, but Aziraphale met his thrusts greedily and he soon lost himself, pounding into her frantically chasing their climaxes. Aziraphale knew hers was coming so she dragged his mouth down to hers and kissed him desperately. She felt his hips stutter and as he slammed in to the deepest part of her, she keened against his mouth as she came. That was enough for Crowley. He spilled into her, hands clenching around her hips, hard enough to bruise. 

They stayed like that, clenched around each other, Aziraphale on the counter, in full view of the front of the shop. Until she chuckled and asked, “So you like the dress then?”

Crowley pulled back enough to make eye contact with the spent angel in his arms. “If you truly need to ask, I’m going to have to ask you again, how someone so clever can be so stupid, Angel.”

“Good,” Aziraphale said with that smug little smile she always wore whenever she managed to sway her demon into giving her exactly what she wanted. “Now, do you think we could relocate? Perhaps to the bedroom? You could help me out of this and...” she trailed off, glancing coyly up at him through her long lashes.

Crowley growled playfully at his angel’s suggestion and snapped his fingers. They appeared in the bedroom above the shop, more or less properly dressed and clean. Aziraphale gasped in faux shock as she realized that Crowley hadn’t restored her panties.

“I liked those!” she protested, putting her hands on her hips.

Crowley purred, “You’ll get them back eventually, Angel. If you’re a good girl.”

A single eyebrow arched at the suggestive tone her lover had taken. “Darling, I’m an angel. I was made to be good for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Welp. I can't believe I wrote this--and posted it! This was my first time writing smut, so please be gentle.
> 
> This was just supposed to be a cute fluff piece about Aziraphale deciding to try out a feminine form for the sake of wearing a tartan dress, and then it turned into smut. Geez. It's like I have two settings for these ineffable idiots: fluffy and smutty.
> 
> Well, thank you for reading! Let me know what you thought of it!


End file.
